Brandon

The Marlboro Man was always the picture of cool and tough, just like my father. Maybe that's why he smoked the damn things every chance he could. After all, he was a child in the '50s, when men were men, a time when very few feelings couldn't be resolved with a walk outside and a long draw off a cigarette. And I can't say my father ever really strayed from those ways, for better or for worse. In fact, I only remember him being excited once in my life, the time he earned enough of those Marlboro points to get a very nice thermos. ###
I remember the day it arrived on our front porch. This huge box was there, and all I could think about was tearing into it. Wisely (protecting my very life) my mother kept me from opening my father's prized possession. When he did arrive home from work at the ship yard, he took his razor sharp whittling knife and sliced the packing tape with laser-like precision. With every cut I anticipated what this glorious gift from the Marlboro gods would look like. Soon I was rewarded. It was bright red, with a luminous white top that also served as a cup for soup, coffee, and what I believed to be the nectar of the gods. My father was overjoyed, as was I.###
That thermos went everywhere with us, all over our small little world. From Finnigan's Lake to the rock quarry, wherever we had an adventure, the Marlboro thermos was there. It even went with Dad and me to The Grand Canyon on our special "boys only" three-day camping trip. As funny as it sounds, my father and I grew close to that thermos; it held a ton of special memories for the both of us. As Dad and I both grew as men, we always remembered those good times and that Marlboro thermos. To this day, I keep that thermos in my own home, and I remember my father. It's funny just how much a giveaway thermos can hold.